


Lost and Found

by Emily_F6



Series: Peter Parker Prompts [23]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:20:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25823542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emily_F6/pseuds/Emily_F6
Summary: Clint Barton just wants a hot dog.  What he finds is a spider.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Peter Parker Prompts [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1866505
Comments: 17
Kudos: 420





	Lost and Found

**Prompt: Clint fixes up a hurt Peter.**

When it came to house arrest, Clint thought that being stuck at his farm wasn’t the worst thing in the world. He got to be with his kids. He got to spend time with his wife. He finally got to work on fixing the thousand little things he had always meant to get around to. It was like the retirement he’d always wanted. But, he had to admit as he strolled down the streets of New York City, it was good to be free too.

Of course, he wasn’t the only one. The others, Cap and Nat and Wanda, were all around, he was sure, even if they hadn’t taken the house arrest option. Even if they’d chosen to live their lives on the run. And what about Stark and his new Spider sidekick, Clint wondered. Where were they in this Accords mess. Stark hand wanted their team to fall apart. But what did he call this? With half of them on the run, two on house arrest (if you counted Scott as an Avenger) and Stark moving to the Compound upstate, how were they supposed to be any kind of team anymore?

And part of him was nervous. He could admit it. He was nervous because Stark always insisted that there was something coming. Something big. And if something big came and they weren’t a team or even on speaking terms, who was going to protect the Earth? Who was going to avenge the citizens of their planet if something terrible truly did just show up from space one day?

He sighed and shook his head. All he’d wanted was a New York hotdog. No need to obsess over threats from outer space when he couldn’t do anything about them anyway. So Clint headed for his favorite hot dog vendor that, coincidentally, was only about six blocks from the tower. He’d promised his wife that this would be a short trip into the city to pick up some things and meet with the ‘rogue Avengers,’ so he didn’t have a ton of time. Still, he needed a hot dog. Maybe two hotdogs. And a coke. 

Rubbing a hand over his face and yawning, Clint checked the time and started to turn the corner when he heard it. Pausing in the middle of the sidewalk, he tilted his head, then turned, backtracking a few steps. He could have sworn he heard something hit a dumpster...like a body. Sighing at himself for being unable to leave his work at work where it belonged, Clint started to keep walking. Started to go back to his hot dogs and his plans. But, when it came down to it, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t resist just a glance. So he turned around once more with another sigh, stepping into the alley and looking around. He didn’t see anything. The dumpster lid was shut, and there were no muggings in progress or anything. And he thought about getting back to his hot dog but he had to check. So he stepped into the alley, taking another look around. He lifted the dumpster lid and peeked in, wrinkling his nose at the smell and then dropping it again. And that’s when he saw it. A foot. 

Heart rate kicking up a notch, Clint hurried around to the other side of the dumpster and knelt beside the masked man lying there. It was the Spider guy...the one from the airport. Only now he was laying slumped on the ground, head resting on the side of the dumpster, a hand braced against his abdomen where a red stain was spreading. The man was breathing heavily, breath catching in what sounded like a sob, and the lenses of his mask widened when he caught sight of Clint.

“Hey...take it easy. You’re alright. What am I working with here?” Clint asked, moving the man’s gloved hand away from the wound on his abdomen and flinched at the sight. Stab wound. Bad stab wound in a bad place. 

He’d been stabbed in the stomach. And Clint didn’t carry around a first aid kid. 

So he pulled out his phone, dialing the first person that came to mind. Thankfully, she answered after only three rings. “You ready?”

“Change of plans. I need some help. It’s the Spider-guy. From Germany. Stark’s guy. He’s hurt.”

She was silent for a moment before answering. “How bad?”

“Stab wound to the abdomen. He’s gonna need blood, stitches, antibiotics, whole nine yards. Fast.” Clint spoke softly and as quickly as he could as he put pressure on the stab wound. The man kept breathing and Clint wanted to get him talking. Keep him conscious.

“I’m on my way. I’ll bring Sam.”

With that, he hung up the phone and turned his attention to the man in the suit. “Help is on the way, don’t worry.” 

“Mr...Mr. Stark...he…” Spider-guy coughed, choking on another sob, and Clint gripped his shoulder, trying to help him stay upright and away from the dumpster. 

“Look, I can’t get in touch with Tony right now. Hell, I doubt he’d even answer the phone. But Sam and Natasha are on their way and you’re going to be fine. We’ll get you patched up.” The guy made another choked noise and Clint reached for his mask, ignoring how the man shook his head. “It’s going to help you breathe, okay? I’m not going to tell anyone who you are, I swear.”

The man started to shake his head again but Clint was already lifting gently on the bottom of the fabric, lifting it over the man’s face only to find himself stopping short, heart pounding. Because it wasn’t a man who had been stabbed in the stomach and left in an alley. It was a boy. A teenager. Stark had brought a teenager to Germany. Thoughts of his own kids, of Lila, who was surely around this boy’s age, or Cooper running around the city and trying to fight crime...of lying in an alley behind a dumpster, bleeding out and crying, filled his mind and he had to blink them away, doing everything he could not to dwell. The boy’s face was pale underneath the blotchy red spots on his cheeks and the tears that he couldn’t seem to stop. 

Clint swallowed hard and forced himself to smile. Tried to pretend that he didn’t keep seeing his own boy sitting there on the ground, sobbing and shaking and trusting Clint, a virtual stranger, to help him. “Hey...you’re going to be okay,” Clint tried to assure him. “It’s been a while, huh? Haven’t seen you since Germany and we didn’t really get the chance to chat much. I’m Clint. What’s your name?”

The boy struggled to take a breath, and when he spoke, his voice was raspy and wet. “Peter.”

“Alright, Peter. I called Natasha and she’s on her way with Sam. They’re going to help me fix you up. Think you can tell me what happened?”

“I...disabled the tracker…”

“Okay…there’s a tracker in your suit?”

“Mr. Stark...so he knows...if...if I get hurt…”

“Right...so you disabled it and now Stark doesn’t know that you’re hurt?” Peter nodded, eyes falling to half-mast as his chin started to droop to his chest. “Woah...hey, Peter? Kid, You’ve gotta stay with me, okay? I’m going to try and get ahold of Stark...” Before he could even finish the sentence, a car pulled up to the curb and Natasha jumped out followed closely by Sam, the two of them jogging into the alley and dropping to their knees beside the boy who barely seemed to register their presence.

“What’s his name?” Nat barked as Clint continued to apply pressure and Sam lifted one of the boy’s eyelids.

“Peter,” Clint answered, lowering his eyes for a moment and clenching his jaw. A child. A teenager. Just a few years older than his own boy. 

“Hey, Peter, stay with us,” Sam urged, shaking his shoulder gently as he pressed his fingers to his throat, feeling for a pulse. “Peter? Hey, Spider-Man, right? I’ve seen you on Youtube. Pretty cool stuff.” He turned to Clint. “Help me get him to the car. Nat, get a hold of Steve. Tell him we’re going to need blood...he’s losing a lot of it. We’ve got to get this cleaned out and stitched up.” 

Clint moved to the boy’s other side and lifted Peter’s arm over his shoulders as Sam did the same on his other side. Peter’s chin dropped to his chest, coughing weakly and shuddering, and the two men carried the boy as quickly as they could to the car, Natasha climbing into the driver’s seat and stepping on it, the phone sandwiched between her ear and her shoulder. Once they were in the back seat, Clint shifted and let the boy’s head rest on his shoulder as Sam pressed hard on his stomach. “Peter? Peter! Open your eyes.” 

The kid coughed and shivered again, and Clint rubbed a hand over his shoulder. “Peter? Hey, kiddo, you’re okay.” 

“Mr. Stark?” the boy muttered, turning his head and left and right as if looking for the man. Sam met Clint’s eyes for a moment, his lips pressed together in a tight line. 

“We’re going to call him, okay? We’ll get him to come pick you up as soon as we can.”

“Mr. Stark?” 

“That’s right. We’ll call Tony. We’ll get him out here and you’re going to be fine.”

As soon as they pulled up to the warehouse that Clint assumed they were using as their home base, they carried the boy inside, laying him down on a cot that Steve had apparently set up, and Sam and Steve got to work. Clint took a few steps back, not wanting to watch...not wanting to see his own boy laying there, out of it, with an army paramedic and a glorified World War II showgirl the only ones there to save his life. Of course, Peter wasn’t his kid. But he was someone’s kid. 

Tony’s? Was this Tony’s kid? If it was, why did Peter call him ‘Mr. Stark?’ Was it supposed to be some kind of cover? Either way, the boy had been asking for him, so, no matter how he personally felt about Tony Stark, he was going to call him. Pulling out the burner that Natasha had given him weeks ago on a secret trip out to his farm, he dialed the number he’d long ago memorized. Hitting the ‘call’ button, he closed his eyes and took deep breaths, all too aware that the last thing he’d said to Tony had something to do with ‘finding a knife in his back.’ And he was still angry...still angry that Tony had taken the side of Ross. Still angry that half of the Avengers had been forced to go into hiding while Tony had moved to the compound. Still angry about the Raft, and Wanda, and even Bucky despite everything.

But what if this was Tony’s kid? What would he hope Tony would do if he found Cooper or Lila bleeding out in an alley behind a New York City dumpster. And when it came down to it, he knew exactly what Tony Stark would do if he found Clint’s kid, or any kid, bleeding out in an alley. Because he knew what kind of person Tony Stark was. And he knew, when it came down to it, he would always have Tony’s back, just like Tony would have his.

The line rang five times before Tony’s voice, soft and confused, answered. “Barton?”

“Hey, Tony.” Clint swallowed hard, glancing back at the boy in the bed. He hadn’t made a noise, even though Clint knew that they had cleaned out his wound and how painful that process was. So he was unconscious...maybe that was better. “I, uh...I’m in New York and I think I found something that belongs to you.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony asked, hesitant. 

“Uh...brown eyes. Brown hair. Answers to Peter.”

There was a long, stunned silence, and then Tony spoke again, this time sounding almost angry as he lowered his voice. “What the hell do you mean, Barton? Where’s Peter?”

“I found him in an alley. Someone stabbed him.”

“Stabbed him?” the man repeated, incredulous, fear creeping into his voice.

“Yeah. Sam and Steve are fixing him up. Any chance you know his blood type?”

“B positive,” he answered so quickly that it just confirmed it for Clint. So this was Tony Stark’s kid. Why else would Tony immediately know his blood type? Also, how had Tony kept a secret child hidden from the Avengers and the world for so long? And why? “Is he okay?”

“B positive!” Clint called, and Natasha gave a quick nod. “I don’t know yet. And he was wearing something...interesting.”

“He was in the suit? It should have alerted me…”

“He said he disabled the tracker...but he was pretty out of it.”

Tony swore on the other line, and Clint watched as Natasha brought a bag of what he assumed was B positive blood to the boy’s bedside, blocking Peter’s face from view. “Can I talk to him?” The man’s tone had gone soft, hopeful, and Clint blinked in surprise. 

“He’s, uh...he’s kind of out of it. But he’s in good hands.”

“Give me the address and I can get there. I’ll get him to my med team. They’ve worked with him before...they know what they’re doing.”

“I, uh...I’m not sure I’m allowed to do that.”

“Barton,” Tony started, but Clint butted in.

“Look, just let Sam and Steve focus for a few minutes and…” 

“Give me the phone,” Natasha commanded suddenly, a hand held out, and without hesitation, Clint handed it over. “Tony?” Clint couldn’t hear the man’s response, but then Natasha was carrying the phone away and so he moved closer to the bed where Steve and Sam still worked in tense silence. 

“How is he?” Clint asked, catching sight of the oxygen mask over the boy’s pale face and the needles in his arms.

“We’ve got him sewed up. He’s still unconscious and we don’t have much in the way of medical equipment but his blood pressure is still low,” Sam told him softly, removing a blood pressure cuff from the boy’s arm.

“He’s got a healing factor, so that’s helping.”

“Tony is on his way.” Natasha approached then, holding out the phone and placing it in Clint’s hand. 

“Tony?” Sam demanded, lifting an eyebrow. “As in Tony Stark? As in the man that had us arrested?”

“To be fair, he was trying to stop us from being arrested,” Nat put in, shrugging a little. 

“So even after all this time, you’re taking his side?” Sam asked, crossing his arms, the blood pressure cuff still in one hand. 

“Look, it was a hard situation. And whatever you think of Tony, there’s no way he’d give us up to Ross, not when he’s the one that helped me get you guys out of the Raft.” Steve looked between Sam and Natasha. “Besides, we can move the base if we have to.”

“Mr. Stark?” The soft words startled all of them, and the four of them all turned to find Peter sitting up a little before dropping back onto the cot, breath fogging up the oxygen mask as he tugged at the IV line in his arm. “Where…”

“Hey, take it easy, kid,” Sam urged, moving into the boy’s line of sight and kneeling beside him. “Peter? Can you hear me?”

The boy blinked at him as the others watched, grimacing when he tried to sit up again, dropping back against the pillow once more. “Where...where’s Mr. Stark?” 

“Peter, do you know who I am?”

“Falcon,” Peter told him immediately, looking a little nervous about the fact.

“That’s right. You can call me Sam. Clint found you...you were stabbed. Do you remember that?”

“I...yeah…”

“We patched you up. You’re going to be fine.” Sam reached out and squeezed Peter’s shoulder. “We called Tony. He’s on his way.” That seemed to satisfy the boy and he nodded a little, eyes drifting shut once more. 

In the end, Clint sat down to wait with him while Natasha headed outside to keep an eye out for Tony and Steve and Sam left to discuss whether or not they wanted to move their secret hideout now that Tony would know about this one. Clint couldn’t make himself care either way...all he could think about was this kid, a teenage boy, laying on a cot with bandages wrapped around his abdomen and an oxygen mask pressed to his face. A teenage boy who had been crying in an alley. Alone. “Hey, kid...can you hear me?” The boy’s eyes fluttered open, and Clint made himself smile. “Try to stay awake, alright? Tony is on his way.”

“Mr. Stark?” The kid shifted on the bed, flinching and bringing a hand up to his stomach. The suit had been cut away at his waist, and Clint wondered idly how much they owed Stark for it. Surely it had been expensive.

“That’s right. Hey, Peter?”

“Hm?” 

“How old are you?”

“I’m…” Peter blinked, seeming to try and focus. “I’m almost sixteen.”

Fifteen years old. The boy was fifteen years old. “How, uh...how do you know Tony?”

“I’m his intern.” He blinked again, sighing and taking deep breaths of the oxygen being pumped to his face. “Can...can I sleep?”

“Not just yet, kiddo. You need to stay awake until Tony gets here.” Besides, Clint wanted to know more. His intern? Surely Peter wasn’t just Tony’s intern. 

“He’s gonna be mad.”

He furrowed his brow. “Why would he be mad, Peter?”

“I...I messed with the suit and...and I wasn’t supposed to.”

“You mean the tracker?” Peter hummed in agreement, nodding a little. “Well, he sounded worried on the phone. I’m sure he won’t be too mad.”

Peter grimaced as though he didn’t agree, and Clint hoped he was right. Surely Tony couldn’t be all that mad...he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold onto any kind of anger if it was his kid laying in what amounted to a hospital bed. 

When the Iron Man suit stepped into the room almost an hour later, after Sam had come back into the room to remove the IV’s, Peter had dropped back into unconsciousness, and Clint glanced up at Tony just in time to see the mask of his suit flip up. Tony was starting at the kid, lips pursed, jaw tight, and despite the anger Clint still felt whenever he thought about the Raft and months of house arrest, he couldn’t help the pang that went through him when he saw the fear in Tony’s eyes. 

“He’s been in and out. Said he was worried you’d be mad.”

Tony shook his head, the suit disassembling around him before he approached Peter’s bed. “He should be worried. I am mad.” The words didn’t fool Clint for a second, not when Tony placed the back of his hand against Peter’s forehead, then moved it to the boy’s hair, leaving his hand there for a moment, eyes taking over him. “He disabled the tracker that I put there for a very good reason. Damn teenagers.”

Clint’s lip twitched. “Yeah...they’re the worst, huh?”

“The worst,” Tony agreed in a voice that shook. “You hear that, kid? The absolute worst.” 

On the bed, the boy frowned in his sleep, shifting on the bed and groaning when that must have hurt. “Mr. Stark?”

“You got it in one, Pete.”

“‘M sorry.”

“I’ll bet you are.” Despite his words, Tony’s voice was soft in a way Clint had never heard, a tiny, relieved smile appearing. “Stab wounds are usually exactly as much fun as they sound.”

“Other guy...fast. Enhanced. Like me.” Peter’s sentences came out as fragments but Tony still nodded, hand moving from the boy’s hair to his shoulder.

“That’s alright, Underoos. You can’t win ‘em all. How about we head up to the Compound, huh? Get you looked at by a doctor that didn’t get all of his medical training before 1950?”

“Sam isn’t old,” Peter murmured, flinging when Tony eased him into a sitting position.

“Ah. Well, I have to concede that point, Spiderling.” Tony didn’t seem to be all that focused on his words. Instead, he was holding Peter’s shoulder, trying to keep him from falling, and Clint stepped in, holding his other shoulder. 

“I got him.” For a moment, Stark went stiff, his stance protective, but after a second he nodded and stepped away, letting Clint take Peter’s weight as he stepped back into his suit. 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, blinking and seeming a little more awake as he leaned against Clint. “Do we have to tell May?”

“Oh, do we have to tell your guardian and aunt that not only were you stabbed, but also that you messed with the suit again and disabled the tracker that would let me know that you were bleeding out in an alley? Um...yes. Yes we do.” Peter sighed, and Tony stepped forward, now in the suit, to gently place one arm around his shoulders and the other under his knees. “But,” he said, speaking over the soft gasp Peter gave, his hands clutching the arm of the suit so tightly that the metal almost gave. Clint moved in to help, easing the oxygen mask from his face so that it didn’t get tangled. “Maybe we can wait until we’ve got you settled into the medbay and on the good drugs, huh? You know May can’t get too upset with you when you’re high.” 

Peter dropped his head against the shoulder of Tony’s suit, and before the mask came down to cover the man’s face, Clint caught the look. The look he’d felt on his own face countless times. The look he had given Lila when she’d fallen out of a tree and cried for him, burying her face into his shirt. The look he had given Cooper when he had been scared of the clowns at the circus, throwing his arms around Clint and eventually falling asleep in his lap. The look of a dad looking down at his kid with equal parts worry and fondness. 

Then the Iron Man Mask was looking up at Clint, and Tony spoke in his slightly robotic voice. “Thanks for looking out for him, Barton. I owe you one.”

Clint wanted to ask. He wanted to find out exactly who this kid was to Tony, and if he actually was Tony’s secret lovechild. But, when it came down to it, the kid was hurt and Tony was worried and Clint didn’t want to hold him up. Besides, he already knew everything he needed to. “Anytime. Hope you feel better kid.” 

The boy gave him a shaky smile, and Tony nodded, turning and carrying the boy out of the warehouse, and Clint wondered if Nat would give him a ride back to his favorite hot dog vendor.


End file.
